Do I Look Like a Killer to You?
by FoxSparrow33
Summary: "Three guns were held steady.  Three sets of eyes were focused on the door in front of them.  They didn't know what, or whom, they'd find, but they were ready."  My take on the Season 3 preview clip, 'cause I can't wait for 9-20-10 either! Spoilers: 3x01
1. Chapter 1

**So, what **_**is **_**the story with that 3x01 preview clip? Why all the yelling? Why aren't they wearing vests? What on earth got Kevin Ryan so worked up, calling his old buddy a 'scumbag'? Why are they so quick to think Castle could have done it? **

**Like many another obsessive Castle fan, I've let that clip get the better of my curiosity, **_**and **_**my patience! So, aided by a few other spoilers picked up along the way, here's my own take on what **_**might**_** have been going on.**

**I don't own Castle. Alas!**

**Rating: T, for mild language and situations later on...**

**Spoilers: Season 3, episode 1 **

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

_Son of a . . ._

Detective Kevin Ryan glared at the paper in his hand, and cursed under his breath. The article earning the evil eye and expletives was no lead headline – just a paragraph in the "Arts and Culture" section, but the familiar, grinning portrait beside it had caught his eye at once.

_Mystery novelist Richard Castle, author of the popular Derrik Storm series and most recently of the runaway best-seller _Heat Wave_, will be holding a book signing for his newest thriller, _Naked Heat_, this Thursday from 2:00 to 4:00 at Best Read Books . . . _

The rat! He's back in the city, and this is how they find out? He spends all that time tagging along, becoming one of the team, becoming their _partner_, and then drops them cold?

It was bad enough he ran off for three months without so much as a text message to say, "hey guys, the writing's going well, how's life at the 12th?" It was bad enough he'd run off with his arm around _his ex-wife_, completely oblivious to what he was doing to the woman he was leaving behind. (Ok, to be fair, Ryan had been oblivious too until Esposito filled him in, but that wasn't the point.)

But this? He's back in the city, holding book signings, and he leaves them to find out _from his publicity_? It was like breaking up over facebook! Ryan felt like he could spit.

He didn't even notice Esposito reading over his shoulder until a voice six inches from his ear asked, "Does Beckett know?"

Ryan shrugged, and threw the paper down on a countertop. They were supposed to be investigating a stabbing, not reading the paper, but could Ryan help it if some patron of the seedy burlesque club had left the Ledger lying open in the same room as the corpse?

Maybe it shouldn't hurt, but it did. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little flag was waving, trying to remind Ryan that Castle was just living his life and never promised to check in the moment he crossed city lines. But they'd let Castle in. They'd trusted him, made him a real part of the team. And this is what they get? Was book research all they'd ever been to him after all?

_The scumbag_...

Esposito was frowning too. He'd put a lot on the line for Castle, trying to open Beckett's eyes to what Writer Boy was really doing there, why he was still hanging around when he had enough research for fifty books. Beckett had finally taken the hint, too, but before she could act on it, off goes Castle with that blonde ex of his, talking about how great it will be spending the summer with _her_. And just like that, Castle had walked away. He hadn't had to watch the expression in Beckett's eyes as the elevator doors closed on him and Gina. Esposito had seen it, though.

_Kate Beckett is our sister. She's family. You don't do that to family. _

And here he is, the famous author back again, and the first they hear about their 'partner' is from a note in the Ledger.

_Not cool, bro. Not cool._

Esposito hoped Beckett hadn't seen it yet. They'd just finished another tough one, the shooting of a high schooler by another kid not much older, and Beckett had been taking it hard. She didn't need this right now.

But when he glanced back at Beckett's face, her hard, set expression as she leaned over another corpse, Espo knew it was no good. She'd read her morning paper too. That would be the reason for the awkward silences in the bullpen that morning. That would be why she hadn't touched the espresso machine, and had positively glared at both his and Ryan's cups of coffee, and why she'd slammed the squad car's door like she had a grudge against it. Esposito could relate.

_I went out on a limb for you, bro. I called you partner. You owed her_ _more. __You owed _us_ more. _

Just as well, really, that Captain Montgomery picked that moment to call, cutting off a train of thought that was only getting bitterer by the minute.

Beckett said only a few words before snapping the phone shut and starting toward the stairs, waving for the team to follow.

"This vic can wait. There's been a break-in reported in one of the apartments above the club, fourth floor, within the last five minutes. A neighbor saw an adult male, brown hair, black coat, forcing a lock at number 417. She doesn't think the man noticed her. We're closest to the scene…

But Beckett never finished that sentence. With two floors left to climb, there came a distant crash, then another, and a woman's shriek, and then three gunshots… Without so much as a glance at one another, the three detectives were running, bounding up the remaining flights three stairs at a time.

The door to #417 was open, and the lock did look forced, just as they'd been told. Dingy as the halls and stairwells had been – dingy and disreputable, just like the club below – the room they now entered felt more like a chic art gallery. Or, maybe like a gallery after an earthquake. Guns drawn, they cautiously stepped around the toppled furniture, sculptures knocked to the floor, and paintings thrown askew. Yes, an artist lived here . . . or _had _lived here…

Another crash cued them that they weren't alone. Whoever had fired those shots hadn't counted on cops so close to the scene. He was still in the next room, maybe cleaning up evidence, thinking he had time for his escape, or maybe he was just admiring his handiwork. Maybe he wanted to be certain the woman was dead.

Silently, Beckett motioned to her partners: "_watch my back," _the gesture said. They nodded.

Three guns were held steady. Three sets of eyes were focused on the door in front of them. They didn't know what, or whom, they'd find, but they were ready.

With one final nod signaling the moment, Beckett kicked open the door.

"NYPD! DOWN! RIGHT NOW!"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The mind is a curious object. Sometimes it will take in a thousand details all in a glance, and sometimes, one single thought blots out the rest.

There was a body on the bed, its position unnatural, blood from the bullet wounds just visible from the door. A massive painting covered the whole of the wall behind it, and on that towering canvas a face seemed to be wailing, or screaming, over the murdered woman. In this room alone, furniture was still upright, as if the struggle had ended abruptly when the killer crossed the threshold.

There was no room, though, in Beckett's mind, for details like those.

The first thought was only, "Gun!" And instantly, Ryan was firing on the armed supsect, taking no chances with the lives of his team on the line. But Esposito had seen one detail more, and just managed to knock Ryan's shot wide.

It was then that the man in the black coat turned. He yelled, "whoa!" with a grown-up voice but with a little boy's tone that stopped all three dead in their tracks. And then one single detail eclipsed every other thought for Katherine Beckett.

"_Castle?"_

"Beckett?"

It was almost all Beckett could manage to ask, "What are you doing here?" And Richard Castle's shock could not have been much less. He stuttered, looking from detectives to corpse and back, and gestured about with his hands, searching for a coherent thought, the great writer finally at a loss for words.

Perhaps it was those gestures with the forgotten gun waving about in his hand that snapped the three detectives out of the trance.

"_Drop it!" _

"_Drop it now!" _

"_Drop the gun!"_

Yes, this was Castle. Their friend, they'd thought. Maybe he'd just been using them after all. But right now, there was only room for shock and confusion in Beckett's mind, and for a desperate attempt to stay professional. And for Esposito, and Ryan, there was something more: there was that burning resentment that had been simmering since summer and had come to a head with that morning's discovery. _We let you in. We made you our brother. And now, you're the man with the gun._

"_Drop it, scumbag!"_

It isn't every day a murderer, caught red handed, looks more like a kicked puppy than like a perp. But Ryan's outburst did the trick. Castle set the gun on the ground and found his voice.

"Guys, it's not what it looks like!"

"It never is," said Beckett. "Castle, turn around." She pulled out the handcuffs. "Richard Castle, you are under arrest for murder."


	2. Chapter 2

Rick Castle was on the wrong side of the table.

A year and a half ago this would have felt all too natural, sitting in the interrogation room, waiting for some cop with a frown and a file folder to stalk in and comment on his rap sheet.

A year and a half ago, he'd have been smug about it, too. He'd have treated it as a joke: nothing to worry about; just fodder for the next book. More boyish antics from the playboy and Man About Town.

But now?

Now, it was the world upside down. He was playing against his own team. He hardly knew when it had happened, but he belonged _out_ _there_ now, riffling through clues with the rest of them, trying to catch the suspect in a lie. It felt all wrong in here, on the defensive.

The worst of it was he wasn't even equipped for this now. The Troublemaker Playboy was a persona he'd perfected and worn for years like a second skin: a wall between him and the world. But he'd started pulling that down when he'd met Beckett, and now when he suddenly needed it again, the old protective skin no longer fit.

Never mind that there was a lot more on the table this time than a stolen police horse – he wouldn't be charged, he knew. They would run ballistics, and prove the gun he'd held was just this story's red herring. But Beckett and the guys had seemed genuinely angry when they'd arrested him, and that really _was_ worrying.

He'd left on good terms, yes? He'd been chivalrous! She'd made her choice, and he'd stepped out like a gentleman. So why had they greeted him today with all the warmth due to a long lost fungal infection?

And then they'd arrested him for the murder of his good friend, Sue McGinty.

He shifted his hands awkwardly. No one had even offered to remove the handcuffs, and the metal was starting to chafe.

Richard Castle: dangerous criminal?

He almost laughed aloud at the thought. There, at least, was some comfort: maybe Beckett had had no choice in arresting him, but however pissed she was – God knew why – there was simply no way she believed he'd done it. She knew full well he was about as violent as a grade school spelling bee. She'd once accused him of killing her patience, but that was as far as it went.

And with that, Detective Kate Beckett appeared in the doorway.

Right on cue.

_Just how I'd write it_, he thought, and then mentally cursed and told his inner novelist to shut up. She was here, and not smiling. No need to narrate.

Beckett sat across from him at the table.

Yes, she was carrying a file folder...

"This isn't official, Castle. It's not protocol, either, but Montgomery is pretending he doesn't know I'm in here."

She paused, adjusting her chair. Castle couldn't help noticing a change in her demeanor since spring. This felt too much like the first day they'd met, with her not trusting him, maybe even resenting him, and her defenses were definitely up.

"Morrison will be in later to handle the official interrogation. I won't be taking part, given the circumstances."

"The circumstances?"

"Damn it, Castle, you're my partner! Or you were. And you were standing there, holding the gun. When you left you said, 'See you in the fall.' Is this what you had in mind?"

"_A _gun. I was holding _a _gun! And I was coming back, as soon as. . ."

"As soon as what? You'd covered up the evidence?"

Castle bit back his first reply, as he looked into Beckett's eyes. There was so much anger there, and something else, too…

"I didn't kill her, Kate."

Time froze just for a moment. Beckett let out the breath she'd been holding, and an emotion Castle couldn't quite read crossed her face.

"God… Did you really think I might have?"

No reply.

"You did. My God, you thought… I've been gone three months, Beckett! How much can a person change in three months?"

Well, a lot, actually, said the inner novelist. Castle had changed radically after meeting Kate Beckett. Yet, all that was only superficial: stripping away the façade. And she'd learned so much about the man underneath. If she really had even considered…

"Ok, Detective. What aren't you telling me?"

She stared hard at him as she spoke. "Castle, you match the description of the man seen breaking in minutes before the murder. There was no other exit but the way we came in, and we passed no one. We heard the shots, and found you, and only you, standing over the body with the gun in your hand."

"With _a _gun! I heard those shots too, Beckett. I didn't know Sue was already dead! I grabbed _a _gun, and ran in to try to help her. I was holding that gun you took off me when the shots were fired."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"You know what I meant. I wasn't even in the same room. Look, just run the ballistics."

"We did. They rushed it through, since the Mayor's a fan."

"Right? So why am I still sitting here in handcuffs?" And his thoughts added, why aren't you smiling at that?

"Castle… The gun is a match."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Richard Castle, dangerous criminal.

He _had _been standing over the body, holding a gun: the murder weapon, apparently, which wasn't possible. But who would believe it?

Who, indeed.

"Beckett, Sue McGinty called me early this morning and said she was in trouble. She said I might be able to help. She'd been working for Black Pawn, doing some cover art and graphic design, and maybe it had to do with that. She wouldn't say. But when I got there, the door was standing open, and I heard her screaming. I ran in, I grabbed that gun off her work desk, and I went looking for Sue. I heard those shots, and ran toward them, and when I reached her… Maybe she should have called someone else for help. But I'm telling you, she was dead when I got there. That's the truth. Tell me you at least believe that much."

"That Richard Castle, murder mystery novelist and criminology expert, wandered into a crime scene, picked up the murder weapon, and went to stand conveniently over the body just in time for our arrival?"

"Kate, there is no way that gun was the murder weapon! I don't care what ballistics says. Run it again. I wasn't in the room when she died, and neither was that gun." He paused again. "Look, if it's true that the test came back positive… It's not even possible, but if it's true… I'm going to need you."

Beckett's expression changed, then. It struck Rick that the new look in her eyes had nothing to do with the murder.

"Will you? You didn't before."

"What are you talking about?"

Beckett reached into the file folder that had been lying forgotten on the table. The paper she tossed in front of him was a clipping from the ledger, and he recognized it at once. A smudgey, newsprint edition of his own cheeky grin stared accusingly up at him. _Oh_…

"You said you'd be back in the fall."

_Oh_.

"It's only September… I… It's still fall, Beckett. Technically, winter doesn't begin until December 21st…"

"Shut up, Castle."

He shut up.

"Shadowing me was one thing, Castle. Research for your books? Great. It made the mayor very happy, and we all like for 'Bob' to be happy. But it didn't stop there. Castle, we made you part of the team – Ryan and Esposito, too. We've worked together for more than a year. We've trusted one another when lives were on the line. That _means _something, Castle. You were my _partner_. And you think you can just walk out on us all those months without so much as a word? Maybe you didn't pick this up in your 'research,' but a cop shouldn't have to wait for a _press release _to hear their partner is back in the city!"

Rick tried to collect his thoughts. _Partners_. Did she really see him as her partner? And she was right, of course. He should have called, or written, or texted – he owed them that – but how could he tell her why he hadn't? That it had been hard, impossibly hard, to walk away and leave her with Demming, but that once he'd done it, coming back was even harder? Was he supposed to call up and say, "Hi, it's me, the third wheel, just checking in! How's everything going with the guy I lost out to?" Better to keep it a clean break, and try to work things out with Gina. He'd wanted to come back and shadow Beckett again, of course. It was shadowing Beckett _and Demming_ that he couldn't face…

"Beckett?"

"What, Castle?" She was still glaring.

"About the murder?"

"Forget the damned murder! Officially, I'm not even on this case."

"You're just the arresting officer."

"Yes."

"And the chief suspect's muse."

"Fortunately, that fact will not come up in court."

"What, no retaliation for the 'muse' comment?"

"You're sitting there in handcuffs, under suspicion of murder. I can hardly shoot you here. It would look unprofessional."

"About those handcuffs…"

At last, Beckett's glare faded and she fought to hold back a smirk. "Ryan told them to leave them on you, actually. The boys aren't too happy with you, Castle." She did pull out her keys, though, and couldn't hide her amusement any longer when she saw his expression. It was a face you might see on a little boy whose friend had just broken his prize slingshot. He looked, she thought, just like a puppy that's had a bigger dog steal his new bone: shocked, startled, offended, outraged, hurt, and completely adorable.

Yes, damn him. He was adorable, even here and now. His mussed hair made that 'little boy' look of his all the more marked, while at the same time the cuffs were pulling his shoulders back in a way that… No! She was not going there. She was supposed to be holding a grudge. Focus, Beckett.

Castle groaned as his arms were freed, and rubbed melodramatically at his wrists.

"See if I send Ryan an advance copy of Naked Heat. Those things hurt!"

"Oh, man up, Castle. What did you expect? I'm pissed off, myself."

Castle grinned. "You're smiling, though."

"Yeah, well, under the circumstances, I suppose I get some satisfaction out of seeing you suffer."

The circumstances. Castle's grin faltered.

"Kate, I'm telling you the truth about that gun. I get that you're mad at me, and I _will _make it up to you, somehow. But I meant it when I said I'm going to need you. Those results from ballistics… Alexis still thinks I'm coming home for dinner."

Worried, apologetic, adorable, and then he has to mention concern for his daughter… Damn the man. So much for letting him stew.

"Of course I believe you, Castle. Your story makes no sense, but the thought of you as a murderer makes even less." She sighed. "I'm still furious at you, and I can't speak for the rest of the team, but I believe you."

"I was going to come back, you know."

"What, in time for Christmas?"

"Soon. I wasn't… Ready yet."

"Whatever that means."

"I'm back now."

"Yeah, you are. At least until bail is set." She rose to leave.

"Beckett?

"What is it, Castle?" (Yes, there was that grin again. Even possible murder charges couldn't keep it down for long.)

"You know this is going in the next book."

She paused at the door, one hand on the knob. Damn the man!

"It's good to see you, Castle."

"You too, Detective."


End file.
